


Page Sixteen

by write_light



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Caught, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hide your porn. Hide it well. And never leave Stiles unattended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Page Sixteen

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Embarrassing moments for Stiles; Dark secrets about Derek's past; Bodily fluids and hot chocolate everywhere.

 

Stiles knows all about chemo-signals. He knows the ones he gives off are apparently either anxiety or lust. He also knows, thanks to Scott being such an honest and open friend, that the lust ones are always when Derek's in sight.

"Like literally in _sight_ , not just close to you," Scott explained. "That time he was across the street leaning on his car? I was fake sneezing just to get the smell out of my nose."

"Thanks, bro. Thanks for the embarrassingly clear description of my-"

"Derek can smell it too," Scott added and then stared intently at the textbook in front of him as Stiles' mouth pinched tighter.

***

Scott still sometimes mistook the scent of injury for stress unless there was blood too, but Derek said injury had a sharper scent. Scott could smell it clearly now as he carried Stiles' limp body into Derek's loft. Given the glowing marks left on Stiles' neck, they'd decided against the hospital for the time being.

"Put him on my bed," Derek said calmly.

"He's covered in blood and – definitely some guts."

"On the bed. Take hold of his arm, draw the pain out."

Derek held Stiles' other arm as deep black lines coursed between them, throbbing under white skin and arm hairs now matted and sticky.

Stiles rested peacefully after that. Derek wiped him down, pulled off his stained clothing and covered him with a thick blanket as the rain pounded harder on the large black expanse of the window.

Scott left to help Liam and the rest of the pack. Derek returned to the bed, studied Stiles for a moment, then wrapped him even tighter in the blanket, head to toe, an old werewolf trick for restless kids.

***

Stiles woke, pre-dawn, in cold grey light. Around him was a thick black warmth that smelled like Derek. For a minute, he wanted to believe it was Derek in wolf form, curled around him, but when he tugged on it, it was only a blanket.

"Der-?" he said half the name as he sat up, but the blanket was snug and he fell back in exhaustion after a few more attempts. "Scott?" He listened. Nothing. "Okay, I'm at Derek's place alone and I'm in his bed and I'm-" He moved his hand beneath the blanket. "- I'm not naked. That's either good or it's bad."

He was also hungry, and after a full minute of untangling himself from the burrito Derek had turned him into, he limped his way from the bed to the kitchen to find something edible. Derek was better than having your own personal chef, but he only shopped when he cooked. At any given time, there was nothing in his cupboards but a few spice jars, a box of hot chocolate mix, and two forks.

***

Stiles ignored the pain inside him, the ache of where he'd hit the metal gate when the creature threw him. He couldn't see the scars where the glowing marks had been but he could feel them burning.

"Lydia will know what the hell that thing was. Derek will know how to fight it. Stiles will sleep," he muttered, shuffling back toward the bed with a fresh mug of hot chocolate with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.

His side stung him suddenly like a knife going in and he stepped sideways right onto the edge of the blanket, spilling the hot chocolate on his fingers and dropping the mug with a yell of fresh pain. He fell clumsily, entangled, missing the soft bed by a good foot and a half.

"Damn loft floors - you could put a carpet in, Derek," he griped, watching the hot chocolate running off in three directions, the rest soaking the corner of his blanket where the mug landed. Stiles lay there with his head on the dry part of the blanket and stared at his world, at his life, running away with him like the hot chocolate in every direction.

As the pain faded, he thought of how fun it must be to be in college, not doing what they did here every month it seemed. "I chase the beasts of Beacon Hills with my best friend and this big broody werewolf I can still hardly believe speaks to me, let alone listens to me, let alone trusts me not to dump hot chocolate all over his floor. Shit." _The cutest werewolf ever, though. He'll forgive me._

A rivulet of fast-cooling chocolate inched forward under the bed and Stiles couldn't let things get any worse. He lifted himself to his knees with effort and reached the bed just as the chocolatey flow slipped beneath. He stretched, yelping in pain, and stretched again, trying to get his hand in front of the stream. It was heading toward a box tucked far, far beneath the center of the bed. He slid under the bed on his elbows, into the dark world beneath where Derek slept; reaching for the box, he felt the corner slip from his fingers. He shoved up hard against the slats and the bed slid along with him; he could grab the box better now. The pain in him surged again and he collapsed with a gasp onto the cold floor, right across the pooled chocolate, which was still marching onward to the box.

He finally pulled the box free from the approaching chocolate onslaught, then worked his way slowly ass-backwards out from under the bed. The box lid caught on the bedframe and slid off, leaving Stiles sitting in a heap on the blanket, staring down into a very extensive… collection.

Of porn. "Men-porn" Stiles said out loud, then his mouth snapped shut. He looked around the loft once, then back into the box, all pain forgotten, chocolate drying in sticky streams around him, on him.

It was well-organized porn. _Of course it is_ , he thought. And it was, well, old. By modern Internet standards, this was old-old school gay porn. "And tame. Who knew wolves were so vanilla." _Kinda thought Derek would be all secretly kinky._

Stiles pulled out one thin but worn-looking volume, glancing around the loft and toward the door one more time. On the cover, a dark, hairy-chested man, 30-ish, and a younger man posed aggressively and on the pages that followed they did things both aggressive and otherwise, but always explicit. Stiles was rock hard by the time he heard the voices outside. He flushed a deep red and pushed the box back under the bed. He was a mess, the loft was a mess, and his erection was hanging free of his underwear but then the voices disappeared. He sat unmoving, breathing hard and listening at the same time. _Nothing_.

He pulled the box slowly back out and opened the magazine in his lap. By the time he was at page 15, it was pretty obvious that the men in the photos had really enjoyed their afternoon tryst at poolside and were nearly finished. Page 15 led to page 18, where the younger man was waving back over his shoulder as he left the pool.

"Missed something," he muttered, flipping back and forward again, always to page 18. "Oh god," he said, and again "OH GOD it's – they're stuck – he – _ohmygod_ …" Stiles had never been so **aroused**.

Page 16 was joined to page 17 at some long ago jackoff session, Derek kneeling over the magazine joining the men in their moment of release. (Stiles was sure of this, so vividly it appeared in his mind.)

He peeled the pages carefully apart from the corner, watching the picture tear a little more with each tug, no matter how gently he pulled. He slid a finger into the slit and moved it back and forth, not believing the pages were sticky because of Derek, not believing what he was touching, not believing this was real at all. His slow work finally paid off and the pages yielded, releasing with a small tearing sound.

On page 16, the dark-haired man's head was thrown back, his teeth bared in a snarl as he came. He had clearly just pulled out of the younger man, who was pushing his own erect cock back between his legs; cum shot from it in streams as he looked back to his partner.

Stiles' fist was on his cock, and he saw only Derek in the magazine, wolfed out, shooting on his ass while Stiles stared back at him. He was picturing a younger Derek now too, on his knees over pages 16 and 17, legs shaking, stroking his cock - all the small white dots where the pages had stuck and torn, streaks running all up page 17 in a diagonal, it all made sense now.

Stiles came hard, eyes rolling up as his mouth locked open, breathing fierce and heavy. It got all over him, and on the blanket, and his fist and all over page 16 and that’s when the loft door slid wide open with a bang.

He turned in a panic to see Derek, mercifully alone, while trying to will the magazine to close, to re-file itself, to vanish quietly under the bed. He was still coming.

"I told Scott to go home. The smell from you is filling the hallway."

Stiles sat, stiff cock in his now very sticky hand, his other hand holding tight to the blanket, a small good fortune as it blocked the relevant parts from Derek's view. He gulped. Derek gulped too.

"It's hot chocolate," Stiles tried to say, and cleared his throat twice before saying it again clearly.

Derek's eyebrow went up, slowly, and Stiles' fist tightened around his cock; a small "god damn your eyebrows" escaped his mouth. Derek smelled the air, a deep intake with eyes closed. His eyes flashed blue when he opened them finally.

"It's so strong, it's actually covering up the anxiety."

"Oh there's anxiety too. I- I can explain," Stiles blurted, as Derek closed the door and walked slowly toward him. "I found your porn stash, by accident, I swear. I saved it from the hot chocolate. Which was also a miscalculation-" Stiles babbled some more, but he had Derek's attention, for all the sense he was making.

"You found my-" Derek's head tilted and he slowed.

"Sorry. Very sorry. But on the plus side it turns out we have similar tastes."

Derek blushed from his ears down across his face to the very V of the deep v-neck he was wearing.

"I should probably shower," Stiles continued, now embarrassed for eternity. "I'll clean up the mess, I promise. You can stop walking over here!"

Derek sank to his knees by Stiles and looked at the wide open pages for what seemed like a very long time. It didn't help that he was in much the same position as Stiles had imagined him just seconds before. It didn't help that he seemed _calm_.

Stiles always appreciated how easily his cock stayed hard, but why now, why here? He wiped his hand furiously on the blanket as he pulled his knees up to hide.

"Haven't looked at that one in years," Derek said, his eyes scanning the men, trying not to notice the new damage inflicted on it, still wet and warm, or the scents invading his mind, or his own body's need. "Not since I shoved it back in the box when Laura came home early from practice that day."

"Your porn is very organized," Stiles whispered.

"I have specific tastes."

"Do they include me?" was barely audible.

"Yes, Stiles, they do."

Derek finally looked up from the magazine and right into Stiles' eyes.

Stiles swallowed hard.

"Let's get you washed up," he said, pulling the blanket aside and helping Stiles stand when his legs balked.

Stiles never took his eyes off Derek's face, and Derek never looked down, not once, but his hands - he couldn't keep them off Stiles' body. He might have ripped a button or two getting his own clothes off so he could join Stiles in the steam of the shower. Stiles looked down just once when Derek's cock brushed against him, but Derek lifted his chin right back up for a kiss.

***

Derek led Stiles back to the bed, both of them still warm from the shower, still unbearably aroused to be naked in front of each other. The box sat in the way, unembarrassed, and page 16 was a total loss.

"Sorry about that."

"No, Stiles, don’t apologize. It's history. It's – is all of this mess hot chocolate? I'll have ants for weeks now!"

"Sorry about that too."

"It's- " Derek closed his eyes and his shoulders relaxed. "We'll clean it up later."

Derek went to push the box back under the bed when he noticed a smaller box at the end, holding all the magazines in neat order.

"That can't be."

Stiles looked around Derek and into the box, where Derek knelt to lift the smaller one out with both hands.

"Open it," Stiles insisted, dying of curiosity.

Derek gave him a look that was almost the same as his own an hour earlier – deep embarrassment with no hope of escape.

"Naked and kinda cold here," Stiles offered as a reason.

Derek flipped the top off, like it was no big deal, who cares? "Just a camera."

"A camera with film. How old are you again?" Stiles prodded.

Derek snapped the box closed again.

"What's on it?"

"Pictures."

Stiles was standing in Derek's loft, freshly showered and hard all over again, heading for Derek's bed _with him_ and _now_ his brain had questions.

"Damn my short attention span and insatiable curiosity but pictures of what? You? Who took them? Why are they in your porn box? _Are they those kinds of pictures? Did you take dick pics?_ "

Derek's head dropped a bit lower with each question, each a step closer to the truth.

"I need those pictures developed," were Stiles final words.

"No one develops film any more. I wouldn't even-"

Derek took one long, astonished look at the lust radiating off Stiles, brand new lust just since their shower, like a glowing aura of horniness. There was only one course left to him now. He opened the camera and yanked the exposed film out into the light, foot after foot of it as wide as his arms could go. Stiles shrieked like a vampire struck by sunlight.

"That was a national treasure," he finally said to Derek, who was visibly calmer now.

"I'm standing in front of you, naked, right now, Stiles."

"Well, yeah, but teen Derek's dick pics. I wish–"

Derek took Stiles' hand and put it under his cock, feeling the long warm fingers curl around him possessively. The film, the box, and the ants were forgotten for a few hours.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to afg1@LJ for suggesting the numbers 2 and 174 (sigh), and to my brain for instantly going there. I am writing about Sticky Photographs this week. Pornier even than I expected. Written for Full Moon Ficlet. Prompt: #175 "Take Two" and #002: "Sticky" + #174: "Photographs"  
> 


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